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2010-02-01 - Strike Me Down
Meet me out front he says. On my way he says.... It's a good fifteen minutes later before Remy's scent likely announces his impending arrival from the rooftop before the man himself appears. Or maybe it's the sounds of him cackling like the Crazy Cajun everyone knows he is! This time he doesn't even use the trees, he just leaps off the roof at a dead run and lands in a crouch somewhere on the front lawn. The staff he's holding in his right hand hits first to absorb some of the impact. Logan's been outside waiting, and while he's standing there, there's a lit cigar between his lips. May as well enjoy it since he's out here, right? Then comes the eventual scent and sound of Remy, laughing. This causes Logan to arch a curious brow and look towards the other man as he leaps down from the rooftop. "Yer in a good mood," comes out in a gruff, yet conversational tone. A flick of his wrist retracts his staff to a much more manageable and concealable size. Remy tucks it away into an inside pocket of his jacket. "Ororo an' Hank, havin' a snow fight on de back lawn. I win," he explains. He approaches Logan and pulls an envelope from his pocket. "Dat twenty large, fifties and twenties," he offers along with the envelope. Where in God's name he managed to come up with twenty /thousand/ dollars in the span of an hour or three... well, might be best not to ask? "I talk ta someone, got us seats at a game in de city where dey t'ink on of dese recruiters been hangin' out." Between being in the military, caught up in underground agencies of various types, and traveling around the world - meeting strange folk here and there, Logan's learned that sometimes its best not to ask questions. In concern to the envelope filled with money, Logan's doing just that, not asking. He takes it and stuffs the envelope into an inside pocket of his coat and nods nonchalantly, as though they're having a normal mundane conversation and there is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary going on. "Got it," he notes before taking a long drag on that cigar of his. "Get in, get recruited, and take a dive the idea then?" As he speaks, Logan's tone is low - since you never know who is listening around this god forsaken mansion. Remy talks as he starts toward the front gates? Is he planning on walking? "Firs' ya gotta give'm a reason. One of de main way dey recruitin', from what I see and hear, be approachin' mutants dat lose bundles at de poker table. Dat where ya gonna lose tonigh', mon ami," he explains along the way. He opens the gates and a little further down the driveway sits a Hummer never seen on the grounds before. Right, don't ask. "Dis jus' a loaner." He tosses open the back door and pulls out a duffel bag. It's amazing how very small things can make such a difference in a man's appearance. Things like changing into a dress shirt, tucking long locks up underneath a hat, donning designer sunglasses rather than the ones he normally wears. He turns to Logan and when he speaks, all traces of that horrid accent are simply... gone. "Tonight my name is Michael Beach. This place we're going, they know the name Remy LeBeau. Jean-Luc's arms are long." So... the plan is to get Logan 'recruited' in an underground gambling den that's at least partially own/ran by the long arms of Remy's /father/. What could /possibly/ go wrong!? The Hummer doesn't even get a questioning glance, but once Remy changes to don that suit and get rid of the accent, then Logan scoffs. "Sure, make me look like a bum. I know style too, Bub." If you'd call style a pair of weather worn old jeans and an old beat up cowboy hat that... But, Logan /can/ wear suits too. He has, when absolutely needed. Rarely. As Remy starts talking, in an easy to understand tone, Logan adds, "You need to talk more like this. Easier to understand what the hell you're saying." Of course, this is all in jest. And, actually, the more than Logan hears about the situation at hand, the more he likes it. Even if things do end up going horribly bad, at least it'll be fun. "Bet the money, lose, get recruited. Got it." Not a very hard concept, really. Logan then snuffs out the stogie, tossing it aside in the street before climbing into the passenger side of the vehicle, ready to go. "Oh, ya changin' in the back on de way dere," Remy offers after he's climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. It purrs like a kitten, it really does. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder to the bag in the back seat still. "Dey ain' gonna letcha in de door dressed like dat. Don' worry non, Remy picked ya good stuff." And it's really not bad should the feral play along. Jeans, those are fine, but the shirt is place silk, the boots are polished to a sheen and sporting toe caps and the long duster is almost perfectly tailored to fit the man's short, stocky frame. Granted, he'll look a little like Black Bart, but hey! The trip into the city is made with silence only filled by idle chatter and Remy never once slips back to Swamp Rat speak. It's likely he's practicing it up with the way he babbles about anything and everything. When they pull into an empty lot in a run down industrial district of the city, he kills the engine. The items within the bag are inspected before Logan does get to changing his attire to whatever is selected. How Remy managed to get a duster that fits his height and build, Logan really doesn't want to know. Maybe he should put stronger locks on the door to his bedroom? Once all of that is in order, he listens to Remy babble on for the painstaking duration of the car ride. He doesn't necessarily interject or stop the Cajun, understanding that it could be nerves that's causing him to talk so much or, yes, even practice to get the proper voice down. As they pull into the empty lot, Logan makes sure he has the envelope full of money in his pocket before allowing Remy to take lead from this point on. While this happens, he tries to take in all of the sights, sounds, and scents around them, placing them to memory if there is a need to for the future. Remy climbs down out of the large vehicle, making even that act look graceful. His feet barely make a sound when they hit the ground. "Ready, Mon ami?" he asks, slipping back into the familiar language and using the friendly term of endearment a little to easily. Let's hope that doesn't happen inside?! He clears his throat and adds, "I figure losing at the tables shouldn't be too terribly difficult for you." There, that's better. He nods his head across the street. "Across and down three blocks," he instructs before heading across the empty street himself. He leads them those three blocks and then ducks into an alley way. Down what appears to be a back service stairwell, and he stops at the door at the bottom. He pushes a buzzer and waits. "Ain't that hard to lose." At least Logan isn't the prideful type, or else there'd be issues with him admitting and allowing himself to lose the money. He follows Remy's lead to the location, glancing up at the street signs and local shop awnings to get a better feel for the location that they're in. Once they dip down the alley and he takes to ringing on the buzzer to be let in, his expression goes from thoughtful to deadpanned blank. Good training over - countless years, which he mostly can't even remember - has taught him the ability to remain straight faced when infiltrating. The door swings open and Remy doesn't say a word. He simply presents the burly man on the other side of it with what appears to be a fancy engraved sort of invitation. Only the Cajun could set all this up in an hour or two! "Mr. Beach, Mr. Beidenbender." Of course he had to give Logan some sort of last name. Might as well be a snicker worthy one. Beat and Bend Her! "Fourth table to the right along the back wall. Five hundred dollar minimum." Remy dip his head in acknowledgment and wanders on inside, trusting that Logan will follow him. Smoke and Blues marks the mood for the large basement room. Games of chance are happening everywhere, money beyond a normal man's imagination is changing hands. Scantily clad women sprawl across the laps of high rollers. Welcome to the world of Remy LeBeau. Beidenbender? Logan coolly nods his head towards the man at the door as his name is announced, but once they start walking towards their table, he lowly grumbles towards the Cajun, "Yer dead." The scene isn't anything too far-fetched from from the feral would imagine Remy being involved in. The music and the smoke, even the sight of the women don't bother him at all. While gambling may not be something he seeks actively when he goes out, instead preferring a bar, Logan slides over to the table to have a seat and wait for the other high rollers. Once seated, Logan offers sidelong glances this way and that, trying to take in the sight of the atmosphere, people, and especially any of the guards and their placement, should things go wrong. "Bring it, old man," Remy murmurs in return. He, too, takes his seat at the table. One by one, the other seats are filled as well and the games are on. It becomes apparent, early on, that Gambit is trying to lose as well, 'cause ain't no way the kid could ever lose that many hands in a row if he wasn't trying to. Nothing eventful happens until the two of them are a good ten large in the hole. Then he throws in the cards of his last hand and announces, "I'm out boys, unless the house fronts loans." He leans back in his chair and shoots a glance in Logan's direction. Follow my lead... that's what that there look says. Loans will, of course, be offered post haste. But loans are expected to be repaid. It's once the loans are burned through that the evening starts to get a little interesting. Of course, by then, it's a good three in the morning. Remy nods his head ever so slightly to indicate that someone is approaching Logan from behind. It's not really a warning of danger, so much as it is just a heads up... it's show time. Logan does as what was originally intended at the beginning of the night: Lose. Just so things don't look too suspicious, he does win a few rounds, but none that can substantially help him out of the hole that he's meant to dig himself into. Its at least enough to keep the women away, after the first few rounds they lose interest, actually. As the hours pass and the rounds are lost, he too decides that a loan would be best - following Remy's lead on the matter. Then the games are back on. Loss after loss, and a meager win here and there ensure that he's not doing too well for the evening, even as the hours tick by and its going well into the morning. The non-spoken warning causes Logan to glance up behind him. Then again, he was able to hear the approaching footsteps before that person is even there. He's aware of the being approaching, but doesn't make any moves, seeing what fate is going to drop into his lap. Remy focuses his attention on his cards and the game when the woman approaches Logan. Boy is she a looker! Long dark, silken tresses fall to her mid back in cascading waves. Her legs just about reach her neck and the dress she's wearing leaves little of them to the imagination. She leans down close and whispers to the feral, "Havin' a bad night, darlin'?" Her fingers stray up to trace his jaw. Her voice drops even further and even as she adds, "I can help you pay that back," she manages to make it sound like an invitation for an wild evening no man would soon forget. As the woman makes her presence known, Logan allows his gaze to roam over her form. Her offer and the attention causes a brow to arch upwards in a curious manner as he sits there. His attention, while most of it is on her, is also partially on the situation at the table their at. Even a glance is offered towards Remy - who seems too busy ogling the woman to do much else. "Looks that way," he offers her in that baritone voice of his. Finally, he turns to her and asks, obviously looking as though he's taken the bait as his eyes look her over once more. "Really? I'd appreciate it if you could offer some - help." She moves in closer still, leaning in and pressing right up against the feral. She smells nearly as heavenly as she looks. Sensory overload, that's what she is. Her voice is still that same sultry, sensual thing when she murmurs. "Come with me?" Her hand snakes down to entwine fingers around his. Remy... watches. From the corner of his eye he watches. He seems to be paying more attention to the game at hand than anything else, but he's well aware of Logan's position and what's going on over there until... "Remy Etienne LeBeau!" It's a woman's voice that calls the name out from a little ways across the room. Oh... no... "My dear boy, did you really think you could sneak in here and /I/ wouldn't know who you were." Oh... noooooo! The kid puts on a good show of it, looking around and behind him in the classic, 'You talking to me'? display. "Forgive me, ma'am, but you must have me confused with someone else." If this were some seedy bar somewhere with Logan looking to get away from life, he'd already be leaving with the woman in tow. But, this is a job, so Logan's keeping his wits about himself - or at least trying to. As the fingers lace over his and she gives that verbal cue, he moves to stand from his seat and see where this takes him... But then that other woman seems to recognize Remy, and Logan's attention on the hot woman is thoroughly broken. He remains calm, despite the outburst and as Remy glances in a curious manner, the feral lightly hits him with the back of his hand in a friendly manner. There's a smirk on Logan's lips as he adds, "Too bad she thinks yer someone else, huh, /Michael/. That hot little thing..." He's trying to make it clear that this isn't Remy either, without drawing attention. Please let this work... "Remy LeBeau, what is it you're trying to pull. Does Jean-....." But something stops her. The woman's gaze drifts from Logan to Remy, back to Logan again. She's an older woman, mid 40's at least, but striking nonetheless with violet eyes and raven hair. "Oh, excuse me... I'm sorry, Michael is it? Please, enjoy the rest of your evening." ...and then she's backing off, disappearing back through the crowd the way she came. Could it have been that easy or is there something else happening here? As far as Logan and his temptation. The beauty holding his hand pulls him along with her to a far corner of the bar and a table shrouded in shadows and obscured by smoke. The man sitting at the table is small, non-descript, not one ounce of anything intimidating about him save the chill iciness of his stare. There's a bit of relief as the woman catches on and backs away from the table, playing along. Not that Logan would have minded getting into a scuffle, but if he wants to get into this underground ring, this wouldn't have been the time and place for it. As the woman tugs on his arm to drag him elsewhere, Logan points a finger towards Mike and offers, "Stay out of trouble, Mike, will ya?" Then he's dragged to that far away table where others are sitting, shrouded in the darkness. He takes a good look at the smaller man who is sitting there, but says nothing as to why he's there, nor does he ask any questions. Obviously, her words on helping him meant that she was going to bring him to someone else. That's fine by him as long as a deal is made. The small gentleman motions to the chair across from himself. "Have a seat, Mr. Beidenbender," he offers in a voice that's a little too high to be male, but it's certainly a man sitting there. "It seems you might be in a bit of a pickle and that, perhaps, I can offer you a way out." Meanwhile... a waitress brings Remy another drink. He's had one in front of him nearly all night, taking his time with each one. Getting shit faced right now would be bad, but looking the part is also important. Something, however, draws his attention to the napkin beneath the glass and he picks the thing up. A beat and he rises smoothly to his feet. "If you will excuse me, gentleman," he addresses the other men at the table. "Deal me out this hand. I need to make a trip to the little boy's room." DAMNED FOOL! Where's he /going/!? Logan shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. "Swear, I thought I was winning for a while." He then moves a hand to rub at the back of his neck, pretending to be nervous and anxious after losing all of that money. "I-I really had a bad streak." Even his leg starts to bounce a bit under the table and his free hand starts to anxiously twitch against the table top - all to keep the facade going that this man is in the position of power. "Yer gonna help me? How?" Logan takes a moment to glance behind the smaller man, looking towards the table where he and Remy were sitting at earlier - only to find that Remy isn't there anymore. Where the hell is he going?" Still keeping up that nervous twitchiness of his, Logan twists his neck, as though stretching out the tense muscles there while really trying to sniff and see if he can pick up on Remy at all. But amidst all this smoke, it may be hard if he's not close enough. He said he was going to the rest room and that really appears to be where Remy is heading, toward that big old neon sign pointing the way down a hallway toward them. A hallway that's WAAAAAY back at the front of the building. "Well, you look like a very capable man, Mr. Beidenbender. One that could likely handle himself in a fight," Mr. Skinnysleazeball begins. "A man that could bring his own unique talents to a fight, perhaps?" Now how in the hell? It sure seems that the man's hinting at something, but how could he know? How in the blazes could he /know/ that Logan was a mutant? And where the hell did that Cajun get off to? Is it a set up? Would Remy /do/ that to Logan? Just long enough for all those questions to be considered and Skinnysleazeball continues, "My associate, Laurel here," he nods to the pretty woman that led Logan over. "She is very good at spotting new talent. One fight, Mr. Beidenbender and your debt could be erased." Its really easy to get caught up in those questions of doubt, but Logan's trying not to let them control him or get in the way of what is currently going on. He knows that both Remy and this situation are sleazy, but there was a truth to the Cajun earlier in the evening with his fear. Logan smelled it, he heard it in Remy's heart rate. This couldn't have been a set up. If it is - the Cajun's the best bluffer he's seen... A glance is offered towards the woman as the smaller man points her out. Probably one of those mutant detectors, he's guessing. "Unique talents?" He questions. "What do you know about what unique talents I could have?" Being thorough for the sake of it. Again, this is his past life's training coming into play. "You sure its one fight? A fight against /what/?" He goes on to question. "After that, the debt's paid?" There's a pause before he adds on, "What if I don't win?" "Okay, so two fights. The first one, however, is nothing more than a trial, just to show us what you're made of," SSS (Skinnysleazeball) replies. "The main event will be tomorrow night and your debt is paid, win or lose." Why does that sound almost ominous? Well, because a dead man can't pay a debt anyway, now can he? As far as to the question about unique talents, well the man seems to ignore that for now. He also doesn't reply in regards to what... SSS simply asks, "Do we have a deal Mr. Beidenbender?" It's about here that Ms. Legstoerneck offers softly from the sidelines, "Your friend, he is leaving." !! Leaving?!?! Damnit GAMBIT! What the hell is he up to? Both the answered, and unanswered questions, are noted as Logan's busy negotiating with this sleazeball. He's about to ask something else, maybe even agree to the deal, but what Laurel says catches Logan's attention instead. He looks towards the front of the room, seeing Gambit making his way out of the place. Now this isn't good. The feral was getting involved in this just so he could help Gambit out of this crap. He also doesn't want to make a deal on the fly and get more caught up in this than he needs to be. Sadly, he's left with a split second decision to make. Deal, or no deal. Logan's eyes remain firmly locked onto Gambit's retreating form, even as he lifts a finger to excuse himself and say, "Gimme a minute? I'll be right back." Unless anyone tries to stop him, he's making his move to try and catch up with Remy. "I will give you ten," SSS replies along with a smarmy smile. No one moves in Logan's way, no one forcibly tries to stop him. Path to the door is clear. It isn't until he reaches the door that he's stopped, but not with bad intentions. The man that let them into the place hands Logan a set of keys and along with it a sealed envelope. "Mr. Beach wanted me to tell you that he caught a ride with someone else, said you can take his car home for him?" It just gets better and better doesn't it? Choices to be made. Stop and open the envelope or continue after Gambit? Once Logan reaches that door and is handed the envelope, he doesn't bother to go after Gambit. He simply nods towards the man, offering a simple 'thanks' for the information, and then turns away from him to open the envelope to see what is contained inside. It had better be worth all this mess that he's getting himself involved in... Seal the deal. I know who's behind it, but they have her daughter. ~Remy Oh, well isn't that just chalk full of information! Vague much? No, never Gambit. Who's daughter? Well, if Logan thinks hard enough about it that's probably not too had to figure out. But who's behind it? And... where the hell did the daft Cajun run off to? Trouble, no doubt. But one thing is sure and true and as clear as a whistle and that's Remy's sent lingering in the relatively smoke-free area around the front door.... and the adrenaline and fear mingling with it. Despite how vague the note is, Logan's encountered worse. Encrypted messages, one word answers, even symbols with directions on what he should do next. At least this is /something/ in regards to an explanation. The note is stuffed in his pocket just as he gets a whiff of the Cajun's scent - and its not good. The feral makes his way back towards the table with the other shady men, and woman, nodding his head slightly as he states gruffly, "You got yourself a deal." He doesn't stay much longer after that though. He'd hear comments after that as he walks away and moves to leave the room - again, if he's allowed, and makes his way into the alley, where he smells Remy. "Mr. Beidenbender!" SSS calls out. "We're not finished. There's a little matter of... making sure you have what we're looking for," he reminds a little cryptically. Others in the room likely won't have a clue anyway. But Logan, well, he likely does. The man is talking about that trial fight. Like it's supposed to happen now? Decisions! No one stops the feral's trek into the alleyway, nothing but those words to draw him back inside. Outside, Remy's sent is fading quickly. He didn't leave the area on foot that's for sure. Someone picked him up in a vehicle at the end of that alley. "Dammit, Swamp Rat," Logan growls beneath his breath as he reaches outside and there's no sign of Remy anywhere. Its likely that calling him on his cellphone - if its even on him, won't do much good either. So, it appears as though Logan is on his own in his for the time being. He makes his way back inside, a bit ticked that Gambit just up and left the way he did, but its fuel for the fire to be used in that trial fight, no doubt. Returning to the table, he apologizes with, "I'm sorry, my friend was holding something of mine and I had to get it back before he left." He sits back down at the table, across from the smaller man. "What else is there that needs to be done?" "Why, your test, Sir." SSS rises easily to his feet. "If you will come with me." He doesn't wait for a response before he's heading for a hallway not far from the table he's sitting at, taking them away from the front where Remy disappeared. From the shadows along the way, the woman that was so certain Michael was Remy watches. Passing by her brings the Cajun's scent to the air. He's been near her, recently. Perhaps even holding her briefly, comforting her? She wrings her hands together as she watches them pass by, the trio of Logan, SSS, and Laurel; the latter ever silent now. Right down to business then... Logan stands and follows the rest of the people from the table as they lead him to a place unknown to him. As he passes by that one woman and catches the scent of Remy, a sidelong glance is offered in her direction. Logan sees her reaction but doesn't do much to offer her anything, let alone say anything, but he gets an idea on what was going on in that letter. He's here for the fight though, and to get in... Onward! Down a long hallway that really does angle 'downward', obviously into a sublevel of the building. The walk takes a good twenty minutes an it's made in complete silence. Eventually the hallway dumps them out into a room the same size as the one above them. The room is completely empty save one man standing at its center. He doesn't appear to be an opposing figure, average height, blond shaggy hair, blue eyes. He dips his head in greeting to those entering. "Mr. Beidenbender, this is Mr. Lawson. Your task tonight is simple. Pin him to the ground for a count of three." Sounds easy enough, right? "Square off in the center of the room and do not make a move until my word." Everyone without supernose is very unaware of the scent of the woman from upstairs lingering in the hallway outside the room. Quiet little thing she is, she must have removed her heels before she followed them all down the long hallway. Logan obligingly follows the small scum-sucker down the hallway and towards that room where the one person was already standing in the middle. He eyes the man, sizing up his opponent before he sniffs and catches a waft of a familiar scent, that woman's. It doesn't draw his attention away though, either due to lack of care or because he's concentrating on the task at hand. The small man then goes through the motions of stretching the muscles within his neck and arms, loosening up a bit before he nods, "Got it," he growls out. His thick arms then go up in a defensive manner, shielding his face as he waits for the cue and for the other man to strike first. Now we're getting somewhere... "One. Two. Three..." Sleazeball wastes no time getting down to the counting once Logan is in place and he wastes less time getting out of the way after the count is finished. Out of the way would be behind what almost looks like the plexiglass penalty booth of an ice hockey ring. 'Mr. Lawson', however doesn't move a muscle. Damned man just stands there with a little taunting smirk curling his lips upward like he hasn't a care in the world or one iota of fear of the ferocious feral. When the other man doesn't swing, Logan considers this. There could be many reasons why he's not fighting - from his style, to something more power oriented, which the feral has no friggin' idea about. So, rather than wait it out, he decides to make the first move, emitting a low growl as he swiftly sidesteps to try and get past any guard the other man may put up, and deliver a solid punch. If there's no backlash, he'd move to be on his guard again, hoping to get the other man moving. Awwww shit! Damned teleporter! How incredibly unfair is that!? When Logan rushes Lawson, there is rather suddenly no Lawson to rush. Of course this development takes place in the seconds before the feral would have made contact. Backlash? He comes in the form of a square boot to the back from behind, because that's where the little bastard is now, behind Logan. Talk about /cheating/. These people make Remy look fair! With all that force behind Logan's punch, when there's suddenly nothing in front of him to hit, he is temporarily thrown off balance. Before he can correct his stance, he feels a heavy push from behind as he's kicked forward and falls onto his hands and knees. "A teleporter, great," he mutters darkly beneath his breath before standing up again, looking for the bastard and where he may appear next... Will his sensitive ears pick it up? The faint, very very faint, so very faint that it's barely there, whisper from the hallway? "Roses." Left and behind, a blow aimed at the kidney, aimed to /hurt/, just a flash of motion and then nothing again, aside from the faint scent of roses that preceded the attack. Coincidence, hardly? Even if the feral doesn't pick up the whisper, it might not take him long to realize that each incoming blur of motion is preceded, oddly enough, by the faint scent of roses. It lasts only a second or two, if that, and fades quickly, but it's /there/, like a signature. Rose scented teleporter. How /wrong/ is that? What does he do, move through the land of funeral parlor flowers to get from point A to point B? Before the next attack, Logan is busy concentrating on anything - a pattern, a scent, even the slightest trace of a sound, like breathing, a laugh, or even a heart beat. He doesn't hear or smell anything that he's thinking, but he does pick up on that very faint sound from the direction of the hallway. The feral perks his head up just in time to get that blow straight to the kidney which sends him reeling and wincing in pain as he grasps at the area that was just hit and stumbles forwards. Obviously this guy is trying to fight dirty, but was there ever really a question of this being a clean fight from the start? "Okay," Logan breaths out in a gruff manner. "You wanna fight dirty...?" He inhales sharply, trying to push past the pain so that he can think clearly again. Rising to his full standing height, Logan takes to glaring at one of the walls rather than at the mutant, as he's probably gone again anyhow. Slowly, there's a sickening sound of metal sliding against flesh as his claws come out from their holdings. He's not playing nice anymore. With his claws extended, Logan closes his eyes and concentrates - breathing deeply, taking long inhalations as he tries to pinpoint exactly where that smell of the roses is going to come from. Maybe Lawson is waiting for Logan to really stand up to his full height? Oh, wait. That /is/ his full height! Maybe the asshole realizes it too, because he appears a few moments later for the first time since the fight started. /Really/ appears. Over there, across the room. He's standing there all casual, arms crossed over his chest and wearing that smirk of a grin. He extend one arm just a little and waggles his fingers all 'bring it style' at the feral. What a bastard! ...and to add insult to injury? Sleazeball is laughing in his little booth. This fight has to end when one goes down, right? Logan already rushed into the fray the first time, before he knew the opponent could teleport. This time, he's not moving. He hears the laughter, he can smell the roses, but they're not close enough. Eyes still closed, he's waiting there in the middle of the room. It's now his turn to wait and act nonchalant about the fight. All that he is really doing is concentrating on his senses, breathing in steady and deep breaths and listening to the sounds around him. Not falling for it twice... "Y'ain' a bit of fun," Lawson jibes before he vanishes again with a put upon sort of sigh and damned if he doesn't sound a little tiny bit like a certain MIA Swamp-Rat. What in the blazes is going on here? Is it coincidence that the man sounds like he's Cajun? Or at least like he was raised in around the Nawlins area? This time when that faint, tell-tale scene happens, it's only a few feet or so away from the feral. Just outside of arms but close enough to be within easy range for a kick. To the right, front... But will the anticipated blow come high or come low? The taunt doesn't elicit even a twitch from Logan. He's still standing there, still waiting. Muscles tense up as he stands there, as though waiting for the moment where they'll strike, all it takes is time and patience. Suddenly, the scent gets closer. While it isn't directly behind him, its close enough to warrant a strike. He spins around, and rather than kick, he swipes at the other man with his claws towards his midsection, leaning forward and pressing all of his momentum into that single attack, hoping that it'll be enough to reach before the man disappears again. Where the wasn't anything but the faint scent of roses, there is now a Lawson. The blonde stares down at the claws through his midsection with a bit of wide eyed disbelief. That can't really be happening. Apparently being run through by sharp objects renders his teleportation ability rather useless because he doesn't just vanish from those claws. One of his hands strays down to wrap around Logan's wrist weakly as if he might pull the offending blades out by force, but wait... he's not trying to pull or push away, it's more like... he's trying to pull the feral's hand /closer/, pull the blades further into his body. Blood gurgles from his lips along with his words when he speaks. "Thank you, mon ami." ....and then he says no more. His body goes limp, the life vanishes from his eyes and he breathes his last breath. Logan should have guessed that he'd get a reaction like that, but he doesn't. Instead he expects the man to fight rather than try to plunge those blades deeper into his belly. The sensation of feeling someone else's blood trickling down his knuckles never seems to dull, no matter how many times he's felt it. All of that pent up energy within him seems to fade when he comes to realize what is going on. Instead, Logan closes his eyes and exhales a slow breath, something akin to a pained regret. But rather than fight it, he opens his eyes and looks up at the man's face before that life is fully taken from him and whispers towards him with a nod, "You're welcome." There is no bravado in his tone, its all sympathy - as much as he can manage to muster within that baritone voice of his. Once that spark leaves the other man's eyes, Logan dislodges his claws, allowing the body to fall to the ground in a lifeless heap. The blood is still dripping from his claws as he looks towards that plexiglass box where the runner of the show was hiding, and Logan's gaze darkens as he stares straight at him. The little sleazeball? Well, he's standing back there behind the glass giving it a half hearted sort of applause. "Bravo..." His hands still, however, when he looks into the feral's eyes. He clears his throat. He stinks of fear, but he manages to keep his voice even when he announces, "Really wasn't supposed to be a fight to the death, but these things happen. Of course you've guaranteed yourself a spot in tomorrow night's event and the money you owe will be forgotten afterwards. Just like we agreed." The temptation to just take this slimy asshole out is starting to grate at Logan's nerves, but he doesn't react. The near intoxicating smell of fear coming off of him is enough to satisfy him for the time being - and he has to remember that there's a bigger fish to fry in all of this. There's a sharp inhalation from Logan as those claws slowly slide back into their holdings, disappearing from sight, and he smirks darkly towards the small man. "Good," he utters. "Got directions, or you gonna contact me when the time fits?" He remembers Remy's words from earlier, but it can't hurt to ask. "You leave a number with me and we'll contact you an hour before with the location." Sleazeball doesn't make any move to come out of his little booth, however. "You can just... tell me the number and I'll write it down." Damned if the man doesn't almost look like he's ready to piss his pants. Definitely much bigger fish to fry than this sniveling thing. In the hallway leading back up to the main room, the mysterious Remy smelling woman is making her retreat back up, the fact marked by her soft footfalls reaching sensitive ears and the fading of both her scent and the scent of the Cajun's that was lingering around her. He wants Logan to speak the number, from where he's standing? This is almost too amusing if it wasn't sad. Regardless, he does as instructed, giving the scared ring-leader the number to a private line of this, away from the mansion. Once he sees that it is written down, he leaves the room and makes his way out of the gambling hall. Logan doesn't exactly aim for the exit immediately though. He sniffs at the air, trying to discern the scent of that woman from the hallway. It takes him a few moments of glancing around and moving about until he catches the faint trace of it and follows it. When he does approach the woman, Logan makes sure that it looks very candid, like he wasn't aiming to approach her in particular at all. "Thank you," he offers her in a low tone since she did help him in the room. Despite not trying to draw attention, he does glance in her direction and add, "We'll get her back, don't worry." It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure things out after Remy's letter. "Le Diable Blanc," the woman returns quietly, barely a whisper. "Remy will fetch them a fortune in the ring, especially if he loses. He has gone to trade himself for her. I could not stop him." She sounds positively miserable about the fact. But as miserable as she sounds, she had to know what Gambit would do if she told him her tale. If she knows him at all, she had to have known what he would do. She also would have had to have know /where/ Remy needed to go to 'trade himself in' on a younger, more feminine model. Damned fool Cajun! This isn't done yet? Seriously? Dammit, Remy. "Where'd he go?" Logan questions her quietly and calmly, still trying to look like nothing more than background noise to anyone looking in their direction. "And what's her name?" He asks, concerning her daughter. Even though he just heard this news and it would cause many to look shocked, Logan is maintaining his calm demeanor, looking and acting as though this wasn't anything big or new. Maybe its not anything new though. "A car picked him up here. I do not know where they took him." But that means she had to have given him a number to call to make the offer of the trade. Can anyone blame her though? Really? A chance to save her daughter. Can she really be blamed for throwing the Cajun to the wolves. Damnit Remy indeed. "They said if he fights tomorrow night they will let her go." Of course Remy was already /scheduled/ to fight tomorrow night, but... likely not as Le Diable Blanc... as Remy LeBeau, Prince of the Thieves Guild... as Gambit. "They will match him with someone they think he cannot beat in the end. Her name is Amanda." When she doesn't provide any more information that is of use to him, Logan nods slightly in understanding. Even though he, himself, is scheduled to fight tomorrow night, he remarks lowly towards her, "Looks like we'll be back tomorrow then." Afterwards, he then moves away from the woman and makes his way out of the gambling hall. Its a good chance that Remy won't pick up his phone and has gone rogue for now. A part of Logan wants to stop him, only because the Cajun is in too deep with this - but the other side of him doesn't want to interfere, having an understanding with these sorts of situations and the countless times he's run off against the will and command of his friends and teammates to fight a problem on his own and handle it by himself... Once he's outside of the door, he lingers there, at a crossroads with himself on which he should pick. Try to stop Remy and chase around more spotty clues to protect and help him. Or, let him work out this aspect of the deal on his own, by himself... The answer is decided when Logan pulls out those car keys from the envelope that Remy left him earlier and he makes his way to leaving the alleyway, to head back to the Hummer. Its doubtful that he'll head back to the mansion immediately, but he'll probably head to some seedy hole in the wall bar downtown until dawn breaks. Category:Logs